


Quiet Night

by Technicolour (Lirriel)



Series: Red Hart, Blue Moon [4]
Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Background Binu, Christmas Party, Gen, a dash of angst, but mostly just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28316421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirriel/pseuds/Technicolour
Summary: Rocky celebrates Feast Day with his friends.
Series: Red Hart, Blue Moon [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582003
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Quiet Night

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays - and welcome to this year's Feast Day fic! We're getting a story from Rocky's pov, which means you get to learn a bit more about him! This takes place after _Red Hart_ but before the rest of the stories. Please enjoy!

Rocky had never known a proper Feast Day. His earliest memories of the holiday all focused on the biting chill of winter (never enough blankets, when you lived in a warehouse by the sea) and the warm bodies of the adults as they moved through throngs of children.

Back when he’d been a bratling, the Friends of Red Jenny had been a proper group: people forced onto the fringes of society, caring for one another even as they played tricks on uppity nobles and starry-eyed commoners. They’d instilled in Rocky a rough sense of right and wrong and a willing acceptance of whatever the world threw in his face.

And the world was cruel. Rocky knew that.

He’d known it well and true from the time he saw their oldest rounded up and made to swing, the sharp _twang_ of ropes gone neck-snapping tight echoing on that frost-framed morning some three years past.

In the absence of those older, Myra and he had continued on the traditions as best they could. What contacts they could have called upon were lost, their names taken to the grave on bloodless and bitten-through lips. And Feast Day continued as it had: a day of rest, because no one did business, spent dividing up too-precious resources like woolen quilts and place of pride by the cooking fire.

Until now.

Meeting Moon Bin and his extended group earlier in the year had left the Red Jennies in the enviable position of being guests to Cha Eunwoo’s Feast Day celebration. The problem, Rocky thought, was that none among them quite knew how to approach an actual celebration.

“Don’t they exchange gifts?” Myra asked him, one eyebrow raised.

He answered her question with a twist of his lips, mouth flattening in muted dismay before he scrubbed all expression from his face. It was not in their budget to hand out gifts: what money they earned came from careful pawning of items with little value to begin with. Copper had worn the same threadbare trousers for several years now, their money stretched too thin over a horde of growing children to be spared on something so luxurious as properly-fitted clothing.

Though Jinwoo was a willing target for their sticky fingers, both Myra and Rocky had encouraged the younger members to seek out new prey. The friendship fostered between them felt too similar to the bond held among the Jennies. And it was a known rule, something ironclad and blooded, that they were never to steal from one another.

“We would need to scrape together enough money for five people,” Rocky said. He wracked his brains, trying to think what might sell best in the markets of Darktown – it was not a place he ventured into often, but if they were to swiftly attain funds, he would need to find a market that moved goods quickly, with no questions asked and every transaction discreet. It was a risk, but….

“Oi, dwarf!” Myra’s holler, throaty like a tavern maid’s, snapped Rocky’s gaze forward. Myra and he had been slow in their homeward walk, neither in the mood for a bit of friendly pocket-scraping, but now both came to an abrupt halt as they watched Jinwoo exit a nearby shop, the bottom-half of his face nearly obscured by the scarf wrapped snugly around his neck.

An icy wind ran over them all as Jinwoo turned in their direction, causing the dwarf to narrow his eyes.

Rocky shivered. He jammed his hands into his trouser pockets in search of what warmth he could find.

It took only a moment for Jinwoo to recognize them and a few moments more for him to make his way over. It was as a trio that they decided to move to the nearest available shelter, standing close to a stone wall that smelled faintly of days-old piss but provided some protection against further surges of wind.

Now properly settled in beside them, Jinwoo used one gloved hand (the one not attached to a bundle of kraft paper wrapped in knotted twine) to tug his scarf down just enough that the Jennies might see his mouth and hear him speak clearly. He wore a pleasant smile, despite the cold that was no doubt leeching into his bones.

“Hello, hello,” he told them, directing his gaze toward first Myra and then Rocky. “Weather has been rather bracing of late, hasn’t it?”

“Freezing my knickers off, more like,” Myra retorted.

“Is that a Feast Day present?” Rocky asked. He had recognized the building Jinwoo had exited as a butcher’s shop – but there was also the thick scent of meat that clung to the paper, something that made his stomach rumble in quiet complaint. The rats had been thinner of late, and he always gave the best pieces to the smallest of the Jennies.

“Present?” Jinwoo echoed, turning his eyes down to the package he clutched. He pushed out a small puff of laughter and shook his head. “No, no—it’s part of the dish I’m doing for the feast. Have you thought of what you’ll do?”

“I—.” Rocky stumbled out, even as Myra countered, “What feast?”

The smile on Jinwoo’s face dipped a bit. “The feast Eunwoo is having—you were told about it, right? I was certain he had.”

“We’re going,” Myra affirmed. “I just wasn’t aware we had to make a dish in addition to the presents. You noble folk really like to gouge us, huh?”

“Oh!” Jinwoo said. He laughed again, something bigger and brighter in the cramped circle they formed, his teeth flashing in the watery sunlight. “Oh, I think you’ve got it wrong. With such a big group, it’s better to treat it as a big dinner we all bring food to. No presents—or you could think of your cooking _as_ the present, if you’d like. Bin cooked for me last year, and it was lovely, so I’m quite excited for this year.”

“We just have to cook, huh?” Myra asked. “What are you making?”

Jinwoo patted the package he held, the stiff paper crinkling. “Ferelden turnip and barley stew. I thought it might provide Bin some comfort, considering….” He trailed off, an errant wind playing with the strings that held the paper in place. “Do you have any ideas for your own dish?”

“Probably nothing extravagant,” Myra said. She exchanged a glance with Rocky and cracked a smile that he matched.

“How do you feel about rat stew?” Rocky asked, mischief coloring his voice.

Jinwoo laughed again and shook his head. “I doubt I would be quite so adverse as some of our other companions.” He shifted on his feet as another breeze swept over them, breath puffing out in small clouds. “Think on it,” he said at last, “and if you need help procuring ingredients or even just thinking up a recipe, come see me. I’ll be happy to help.”

It was clear that the dwarf was no better suited to the cold than humans. Rocky took to it easier than most, but that was because heat was a luxury seldom-afforded to a street cur. He and Myra released Jinwoo with a few polite words and a handful of farewells that lingered, for it was clear Jinwoo did not wish to be rude, for all that he desperately desired to escape the cold.

But as he had finally begun to step away, Rocky found himself asking, “Do you know what the others are making?” He held no great success in cooking, and he knew Myra was similar, but he was certain the same could not be said for the others.

His confidence faltered when Jinwoo momentarily blanched. “Myungjun’s making a Starkhaven special. Something to do with fish, I think. Eunwoo promised to help Sanha with something Dalish—a type of biscuit? Bin will probably make something meaty. I don’t know Eunwoo’s exact plans, but since he’s practically glued to Bin’s hip, their dishes will probably balance each other out.” He rolled his eyes with a small smile. It was a light-hearted jab at how attached Bin and the knight enchanter had grown over the past few months.

“Well, that gives us something to chew on,” Myra said. “Thank you, serah dwarf. Off you trot.”

Jinwoo laughed again and waved. “Don’t spend too long out in the cold,” he told them. “You wouldn’t want to fall sick so close to Feast Day!”

“Yes, mother!” Myra shouted after him. She and Rocky watched Jinwoo head off, and it was only after the dwarf had turned a corner and disappeared from sight that she looked toward Rocky, her mouth set in mocking self-pity.

“We,” she told him primly, “are well and truly fucked.”

In their defense, they did try. But the other Jennies were as useless as they when it came to cooking, and there were only so many ways to cook a potato over an open fire. It was with some reluctance that Myra and Rocky finally dragged themselves to Jinwoo’s doorstep. Time was running out, and they needed something that would feed both their friends _and_ the horde of children they would be bringing to the dinner.

“Just bake a pie,” was Myungjun’s blunt assessment from the dining table. He had set up the King’s Game to keep a few of the children who had tagged along preoccupied, and they had formed a coalition against him. He had already taken away a number of their pawns, and he knocked over each piece with such delightful theatrics that even Rocky found himself smiling.

“That is a thought,” Jinwoo said, looking toward first Myra and then Rocky. “No one else is making a dessert.”

Myra and Rocky exchanged a look. Rocky did not think he had ever tasted a fresh pie, but he could well remember how the crust had crumbled in his mouth and the way the tart berries had burst against his tongue. “Is there anything in season around this time?” he asked, hesitantly. He had always thought that most fruits and berries were produced in the warmer seasons – and it was frigid outside, a light blanket of snow turning the streets blindingly white.

“Ghislain apples,” Jinwoo answered. “Supposedly blessed by the Maker himself—or at least, that’s what everyone says, to explain why the orchards bear fruit so late in the year.”

“They’re expensive,” Myungjun warned from where he sat, but Jinwoo was swift to wave his hand in objection.

“No, no, the price isn’t a problem,” Jinwoo said. “But are you all right with an apple pie?”

“It sounds nice,” Myra said slowly. She looked toward Rocky, a short dip of her chin encouraging him to speak.

He shrugged, not entirely certain why they must continuously draw upon his opinion. It was just food, after all. It would nourish them and keep their strength up even as the night’s cold sapped the warmth from their bones. But it was clear that Jinwoo would continue to wait upon an answer, so he said, “Seems like the best choice.”

“Then let’s go shopping for ingredients,” Jinwoo said. “Myungjun, watch the kids.”

The prince of Starkhaven yawned and waved his hand in what might have been a flippant farewell, his eyes fixed to the gameboard. “Oh, what a sneaky little move,” he said after a moment, his mouth curving into a grin. “ _Dastardly_.”

“Try not to burn the house down,” Jinwoo said wryly.

Theirs was a short shopping trip, its contents mostly filled with Myra and Rocky following docilely as Jinwoo led the charge. Rocky was put in charge of carrying around the bundle of apples they acquired—and they were certainly unlike any others he had seen, being of a beautiful, brilliant golden sheen that dappled the snow beneath their feet a faint amber. Myra was put in charge of the few spices Jinwoo bought, including nutmeg and cloves and bark from a cinnamon tree that made her sigh longingly as Jinwoo counted out money to the shopkeeper.

“It smells so good,” she confided to Rocky quietly, the corner of her mouth tweaked up. “I just want to try eating it.”

“I wouldn’t,” Jinwoo told her as he rejoined them. He carried the last of their needed ingredients, though Rocky could not quite understand what separated white sugar from brown. Nevertheless, Jinwoo was certain that _both_ would be required in this recipe.

They returned to Jinwoo’s house to find it yet standing, its interior revealing Myungjun lounging in his chair as he directed the younger members of Red Jenny in a game of their own. “Welcome back,” he said, sounding quite smug. “These brats play King’s Game better than you, Jinwoo.”

“Most would,” Jinwoo retorted. Then he turned to Myra and Rocky, his mouth stretched wide in a grin. “So,” he said, “shall we?”

Baking a pie was not so difficult as Rocky had expected, though he supposed much of the ease came from how Jinwoo directed them. As Rocky fed the fire beneath the oven, ensuring a high heat, Myra followed Jinwoo’s instructions on how best to scrape the inside of the bark before carefully crushing the strips down into a fine powder. They went methodically, from crust to filling to crumb topping, and the unused apples were handed over to the children who watched with wide eyes, having never before seen any kind of cooking that was not accomplished within the confines of a pot. Though Jinwoo helped in some tasks, he was careful never to commit to a part that required dexterous knife skills or absolute precision with his fingers – Rocky suspected that his hands, burned by dragon fire as they were, could not accomplish such exacting responsibilities.

Then came the baking, and the pie was surprisingly baked twice: once, for some ten minutes above the roaring fire Rocky had stoked, and then for another thirty-five minutes after the heat had abated somewhat and returned to a temperature all could withstand.

The sweet scent of cinnamon wafted through the air, carried aloft by the warm smell of burnt sugar and toasted apple. It was a cozy smell, Rocky found, reminiscent of nights spent bundled beside a roaring fire, squished between two other small bodies as the adults talked and laughed on the other side.

The youngest Red Jennies were absolutely enraptured when Jinwoo carefully pulled the finished pie from the oven. They had all taken a midday meal, which was a luxury seldom afforded, but Rocky could tell that comfortably full bellies would not deter the children from trying a bite. And it surprised him, to see how good it looked—perhaps not so prettily made as the pies he had seen stacked in a baker’s shop, but it was of a better make than he had expected.

The actual taste-testing was the best part.

It was something like comfort distilled: a warm glow that began in his belly and spread to fill his entire body, the gentle notes of the apple working to overtake some of the sweetness that had been baked into the pie from top to bottom. The crumble fell to pieces beneath his tongue, made of brown sugar and butter, and the crust withstood even the heaviest of filling until it had safely entered his mouth. He licked at the fork he had been handed after he had eaten all of the slice given to him, wondering if this was why people cared so much for cooking.

He wondered how other fillings and other spices might have transformed the pie.

“There’s a reason it’s called ‘The Blessed Apple’,” Myungjun told him. The prince had watched Rocky as he tried the pie, his own utensil held with utmost elegance as he deposited small pieces of the dessert into his mouth. “And not _just_ because the Maker decided to bless the tree that provided Andraste with succor.”

“It tastes _really_ good,” Rocky answered. He smiled as he said it, something small and shy, and Myungjun answered with a returning smile that lacked much of its typical edge.

“It does,” the prince agreed quietly. With some gentle mischief, he added, “You’ll have to make two pies for the actual feast. Three, perhaps—because we’ll all want seconds, even if we’re already stuffed to bursting.”

They did end up making three pies, and it was greater work than the first had been, for Jinwoo was busy worrying over his own dish and could not assist as before. There was also the matter of Myungjun: finicky over his pie (though his was a fish dish and certainly not a dessert as theirs was) and hellbent on achieving as close a replica to his traditional Starkhaven meal as he could, to the point that he became a terror in the kitchen.

When they did finally arrive at Eunwoo’s estate, each loaded down with their respective creations and swarmed by children, Rocky wondered how Jinwoo and Myungjun could live in such close proximity and never attempt to kill each other. Myra tossed Rocky a wry smile, her hair in greater disarray than it typically was.

“That was invigorating,” she murmured to him as Eunwoo’s servant invited them inside.

Rocky snorted and turned the sound into a cough when Jinwoo looked back at him in concern. Once the dwarf had turned away, Rocky shot a look at Myra. “I did not think until today that butter knives were dangerous.”

She smiled back and rolled her eyes. “Exaggerate much?” she asked, but he was unable to reply as they were led into the mansion.

They were taken to a carpeted hall, a hearth already roaring with fire set into one of its walls. A long dining table stood in the center of the hall, and it was upon this that their dishes were placed. The children scattered, overcome with curiosity for a household so obviously dripping with wealth. Rocky could not blame them—had he not visited the knight enchanter’s estate before, he might well have also been struck dumb by the sight.

But, because he was accustomed to Eunwoo’s home, he ignored the many beautiful paintings on display, the squat firs strung with baubles, and instead looked toward three who waited for them near the fireplace.

“Happy Feast Day,” Jinwoo said—the first of them to reach the trio and thus the first to be swept into a welcoming hug by Sanha, who looked especially comfy in a robe trimmed with fur. “Oh, hello,” he added laughing, before looking toward Bin and Eunwoo. “Spiced wine?”

Rocky did not know quite what to make of Jinwoo’s cryptic comments until the elf was upon him, breath stinking of alcohol threaded through with sweeter scents. “It’s just a nice day!” Sanha retorted as he hugged Rocky, his ears flushed red. Rocky caught him by the arm to steady him, a smile lifting his mouth.

“Careful,” he said. “Let’s not fall into the fire, all right?”

Eunwoo shook his head with a rueful smile. “I didn’t know what everyone preferred, so I had my servants bring forth a selection and we sampled each one. Sanha was especially fond of a dandelion wine, but we settled on this spiced one since it fit the season.” He rubbed at his forearm and added with a glance at Bin, “I thought he held his drink better.”

Sanha had begun to hum a playful tune against Rocky’s ear, and Rocky gently pushed him in the direction of the food. “Go over there,” he said. “We brought good food.”

“Yes, we did,” Jinwoo said, shooting another dubious look at Bin and Eunwoo before his expression lightened. “Even Myungjun managed to make something edible.”

“A most extraordinary feat,” Rocky quipped, making the prince swing to face him.

“Like _you_ have any right to throw stones,” Myungjun began. He did not go further, because Eunwoo clapped his hands together, his face pleasant.

“I’m so glad everyone’s arrived,” he said, arching an eyebrow at Myungjun. The prince only tossed his hair with a huff, crossing his arms but otherwise compliant to the knight enchanter’s wish for calm. “Considering the circumstances of our merry gathering, I thought it best to foregone the traditional feast and instead turn it into a kind of banquet. My servants will serve you food as you so wish it, so feel free to wander this hall – and the rest of the estate, if you so wish. But,” he added with a kind smile toward the children that watched him, “I would suggest you not wander far. The majority of the entertainment shall take place here. But I have held your attention long enough. Happy Feast Day, everyone!”

He clapped his hands once more and silvery music tumbled through the air, backed by the gentle crackle of the fire. Rocky turned toward the opposite end of the hall and saw that a trio of musicians had entered while Eunwoo spoke. They now stood playing a tune that delighted Rocky’s ears, not so loudly as to overwhelm what conversation might be struck, but just enough to add to the warm atmosphere that had settled over them all.

“I’ll get us drinks,” Myra told him softly, her hand momentarily upon his arm before she set off. Left with no one by his side—for the children had scattered, to examine the hall, to descend upon the food, to gawk at the musicians—he drifted toward Bin, who stood a step back from Eunwoo, content to watch as the knight enchanter wove snowflakes for a few of the younger Red Jennies.

“Happy Feast Day,” Rocky told him, for lack of anything else to say. He thought today must be a good day for Bin, for the man wore a soft look, his shoulders comfortably slumped and a near-full glass of wine in his hand.

“Happy Feast Day,” Bin countered with a smile and a quick glance. “That pie you brought in smells delicious.”

“I’m surprised you can smell it,” Rocky said. All he could smell was the fire.

Bin’s smile stretched wider, and he raised his free hand to tap a finger against his nose. “I’m a good smeller,” he said. The laugh that followed made Rocky think that Bin was perhaps not quite so sober as he first appeared.

“It should taste good,” Rocky said. “We baked one a few days ago, just to test.”

“You can never have too much apple pie,” Bin said and laughed again. He took a sip from his wine, the dark of his eyes seeming to shimmer in the light cast by the fire.

Rocky knew that Bin was reluctant to speak beyond these banal pleasantries. He had come up against the end of their friendship: the lengths that a handful of months known to one another would reach. He was quietly grateful when Myra handed over a cup of wine before going to prod a belligerent Myungjun, for it meant that he had another way to occupy his mouth.

They stood together like that until Bin sighed, his mouth raising rueful. “Thanks for the company,” he said.

“Back to Eunwoo?” Rocky guessed.

“Jinwoo, actually,” Bin said. He rubbed at his jaw, blunt nails scraping over his skin. “My first Feast Day in Kirkwall, I celebrated with Jinwoo and, and my mother.” He faltered for only a moment in his words, his recovery so swift that Rocky knew most would have missed his hesitancy. “We had this horrible fish thing—I mean, Jinwoo liked it. I drank a lot.”

“But it was nice,” Rocky said, thinking of his own childhood Feast Days. He had sometimes gone to bed with an empty belly. He had never received anything greater than a pair of socks without holes. But they were nice memories, filled with kind voices and warm bodies. Nice, even though Myra and he were all that were left of that time.

“It was,” Bin said with a small smile.

“This is nice, too,” Rocky ventured.

“Sometimes I think it is,” Bin answered quietly. “Sometimes I just feel guilty.”

“That’s why we cling so tightly to the living,” Rocky said. “We make new traditions.”

“I feel like it’d be stupid to ask if you’ve lost someone.” Bin was no longer looking at Rocky. He was instead staring across the hall, where Jinwoo was in animated conversation with Myungjun. Sanha stood beside them, his head swiveling between them as they (undoubtedly, Rocky knew them _that_ well, at least) lobbed verbal bombs at each other. He wondered how much had been drunk by that trio alone.

“I would have been lost without Myra,” Rocky said. He had spotted her—sat in a chair stood by the fire, the white of her teeth flashing even from far away as she laughed uproariously at something Eunwoo had said. It was clear that the knight enchanter had not expected so strong a response. Wryly, Rocky recognized that he would have to be the responsible one in the Red Jenny group.

At least, he thought, none of the children had yet gotten into the alcohol.

“I should go save your lover,” Rocky decided. Myra was not an especially sloppy drunk, but she had the tendency to play up her already wicked nature under the guise of too much alcohol. He did not think the Orlesian-raised knight enchanter had the temperament to fully handle her.

“Rocky?”

Rocky paused and turned back to look at Bin.

“Thank you,” Bin said slowly, his gaze drowning in the dark red depths of his wine. “For being here for me. Having everyone around—it helps.”

Rocky was not one to waste his breath on meaningless words. And he had never found lying easy. So, knowing he could not assure Bin that they were family and unwilling to say empty assurances, Rocky nodded and said, “We want to be.” And knowing that Bin must be uncomfortable, Rocky saved him the difficulty of saying goodbye. He inclined his head in Eunwoo’s direction and said, “I’ll send him your way.”

Bin’s smile was weak as he said, “Thank you.”

But it was a smile. Given the circumstances, that was really all that could be asked of Bin.

Later, sat upon a rooftop with Myra and Lily, the little girl tucked into his side and a blanket thrown across the three of them, he watched the stars appear one by one above them. His breath curled out as a wisp of white as he murmured, “Myra, I’m glad you’re here.”

Some of the alcohol had burned off with the passage of time, and her voice was carefully constrained as she chuckled before asking, “Feeling sentimental?”

At Rocky’s side, Lily shifted; he absent-mindedly smoothed down her hair. “Something like that.”

Myra flashed him a smile. “You’re a terrible liar,” she said. “Happy Feast Day, Rocky.”

“Happy Feast Day, Myra.”


End file.
